Page 28 of Rose
“Gold… sweetie, you okay?”
Sarai opened the door slowly.
They were nearly naked now—Cynthia in lace bra and panties, Franklin shirtless, slacks hanging low on his hips, cocaine smeared across his face like war paint.
Their faces dropped when they saw her step out with a Glock raised and steady.
Before they could react, the study door creaked open and Savior stepped in, calm and smooth, his voice slicing through the tension.
“Oh, so this is where the real party’s at.”
They froze.
Franklin scrambled upright, coke dust scattering from his nose as the baggy hit the floor.
“What the fuck! Who the fuck are you?” Franklin shouted, panic turning his voice sharp.
Cynthia clutched her chest, voice cracking. “What is this? Who are you two?”
Savior smiled coldly, stepping farther into the room, his presence suffocating, gun resting casually in the waistband of his slacks but his energy far deadlier.
“Franklin and Cynthia Ross. Y’all really the power couple of the year, huh?”
Sarai stood by her brother’s side, gun still trained on them both, her face unreadable, but her next move already written in blood.
“What do you want? If it’s money, we have a safe in the—” Franklin started, voice shaking beneath false bravado, but Sarai’s laugh cut him off cold.
“Oh, these motherfuckers evilanddelusional. That’s a bad combination.” Her voice was low, sharp, disgusted.
“The same money you made trafficking kids and women, huh? Nah, bruh. We good.” Savior’s voice was colder, and both Franklin and Cynthia lost the color in their faces, fear creeping into their eyes as they darted between the siblings.
Cynthia tried to save face. “Those women and kids knew what they were getting themselves into.”
The words tasted like poison in the air. Sarai’s glare burned through her.
“I told you to stop after the last one,” Franklin hissed lowly, shooting Cynthia a dark look. Even now, they were blaming each other.
Savior stared at them in disbelief, not because they were guilty—but because they owned it so casually, like it wasn’t worth hiding anymore.
“You two are sick as fuck.” Sarai’s voice was venom sharp.
Cynthia straightened slightly, trying to salvage her pride. “So you’re going to kill us? With all these witnesses here?” she challenged, her voice shaking beneath the false confidence.
Savior smiled. Calm. Deadly. “No.”
He stepped forward, letting the weight of his words hang in the room.
“You’re going to do the honors yourselves. Consider it repentance—for the lives you stole, the harm you caused.”
Sarai smiled beside him, cold and sweet like death itself. Franklin and Cynthia looked between them, confused, fear crackling through the room like static.
A knock sounded at the door, then a man in an all-black suit entered—posing as Franklin’s security, blending in all night unnoticed. He carried a tray of four champagne flutes.
But only two of them carried death.
Sincere’s work, flawless and undetectable.
The man placed the tray on the table in front of them, handed Sarai and Savior their drinks with a respectful nod, and walked out as if nothing was amiss.
